


Something About Her...

by TheCinematicRevealThatBatmanIsDead



Category: Kagerou Project, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wrestling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Injury Recovery, Jargon, Loneliness, Not Kayfabe Compliant, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCinematicRevealThatBatmanIsDead/pseuds/TheCinematicRevealThatBatmanIsDead
Summary: In which there are no snakes, no powers, and no disqualifications. Why is Tsubomi Kido, a twelve-year veteran of the wrestling ring, putting her struggling career at risk by working with the clumsy and naive young upstart, Momo Kisaragi? Simple: Because despite having barely stepped inside a ring, Momo has already captivated crowds all over Japan. If Kido truly wants to go down in history as one of the greatest of all time, she might have to learn a thing or two from Momo, including how to open her heart, and that every Steamboat needs a Flair. I don't have a clue what I'm doing.If you like obscure pro wrestling references and industry jargon littered throughout your fluffy KagePro love story like shards of broken glass in a birthday cake, you'll love this self-indulgent fuckfire. I guarantee it.





	Something About Her...

**Author's Note:**

> I can't imagine that there's any overlap between the Kagerou Project and Pro Wrestling fandoms, but fuck you I want this.

It was 3:53 AM and I was already trying to kill Takane Enomoto with my mind. I’m not really the kind of person who gets angry easily, but getting a phone call from the most obnoxiously picky road agent in the promotion, probably about some minute change on the card, this early in the morning was enough to make me wish death on anyone.

I rolled over, grunting in pain as the soreness from last night’s match took hold, and answered the phone. “The fuck do you want?” I asked into the receiver.

“Good, you’re awake. How soon can you get to the gym?”

I groaned. “Ene, my alarm was gonna go off in seven minutes.”

“So I rounded up, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, now my biological clock’s off.”

“By seven whole minutes. Gosh, that sounds like a pain. Can I get you anything? Coffee? A heating pad? Maybe some of the medicine I take for my _shoot narcolepsy_?”

“I hate you,” I said, drawing on my years of experience cutting witty and scathing promos.

“I know, sweetheart, but you’re about to hate me even more.”

“For a shoot?”

“Yeah, sorry. Tell you what, grab your belt and your workout stuff and just sit tight. I’ll pick you up and we’ll get breakfast or something.”

“What the fuck is even open this early?”

“Hey, my breakfast this morning was a box of Thin Mints and a Dr. Pepper. Life finds a way.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, laughing incredulously.

“I’ll be there in ten. Seriously, bring the title.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t fall asleep!”

“See you in ten,” I said, hanging up.

My legal name is Tsubomi Kido, but I’ve gone by quite a few other names: Buster Mizuki, Nagaina, Kasai no Musume and La Jefa, just to name a few. I am a professional wrestler. I had my first match when I was sixteen years old, and I’ve been working pretty much nonstop ever since. I’ve had matches for dozens of independent women’s wrestling promotions around the world, including a run in Mexico where Takane and I were a tag team. I went by Kido “La Jefa” Taichi, and she went by the same name she’s used throughout her whole career, “Lightning Dancer Ene.” We held the tag team championships for five hundred and eleven consecutive days, and defended them a total of forty-four times.

Yesterday was my twenty-eighth birthday, and my first-ever singles championship win.  

_And most likely your last._

I shook my head. As broken-down and underutilized as I felt, I still had my best years ahead of me. Most wrestlers are in their thirties before they touch singles gold. Even if I drop the belt tomorrow, Azami, the head booker, clearly had enough faith in my talents to give me the reigns for just a moment. Positive thoughts, Tsubomi. Look at The Wall.

The Wall is a section of my bedroom covered almost floor-to-ceiling with posters of wrestlers I admire. Bull Nakano, The Crush Gals, Mariko Yoshida, Minoru Suzuki, Shawn Michaels, Yuji Nagata, Randy Savage, Manami Toyota, Madusa, Katsuyori Shibata. Men and women who were equal parts athlete and entertainer. Their images were like charms, filling the room with their power, their allure, while I slept, and once I was in the ring, I could channel them. I could become as captivating as they were.

That was the idea, at least.

I tossed my towels, cold spray, water bottle and tape into my gym bag and slipped into my workout gear. While I brushed my teeth, I took a look at myself in the mirror, and was surprised that, despite the bags under my eyes, I looked good. Toned muscles, intense eyes, cute-but-also-kinda-butch Leona Heidern ponytail. I could imagine a girl eyeing me from across the bar, a playful smile on her face, an inviting glow in her eyes. A pang of loneliness burst in my stomach but I shut it down. It wasn’t time. In two months, I’d be signed to a three-year deal with Akame Women’s Wrestling, guaranteed money and all travel and lodging expenses billed to the company. I could shift my focus towards maybe, _possibly, EVENTUALLY_ dating again only when I had the money and time and mental energy to treat my hypothetical girlfriend right. Going to bars, nice restraunts, movies, late night phone calls, feeling her warmth on the other side of my bed, prickling at her hot breath on my neck, the soft pull of her lips as we tumble over the sheets, her arms crossed over my back, tracing the line between my shoulderblades with her nails, her tounge lighting up every nerve, caressing every inch of skin, slowly, slowly–

_BZZZZZT_

The door buzzer sounded, and I choked on my toothpaste.

“Wake up, Jefa. Food’s gettin’ cold.” Takane had arrived, and was making no effort to not wake the neighbors. I followed her down the stairs and into her car, still blinking the sleep from my eyes as she explained what I’d been asked to do.

“We’re going to meet Azami’s new hire at the gym. She’s supposedly the real deal. Great look, great charisma, surefire gimmick. Azami’s ready to strap a rocket to her. She’ll be your first title defense.”

“Okay, and?”

“You’re gonna train her.”

I turned to look at Takane. “Excuse me?!”

She just smirked, not taking her eyes off the road. “I told you you’d hate me.”

“I thought you said she was the real deal?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, character-wise she’s a natural. In the ring, she’s greener than turtle shit.”

I leaned back in the seat. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, look at it this way: this is where you prove your value as a champion. Okay? You gotta be a leader.”

“I guess.”

She turned and shot me a sly grin. “Plus, if what I’ve heard about her is true, this might be your chance to end your little dry spell.”

“Ene…”

“No, I mean it, Jefa, she’s cute.”

“I don’t do _cute_ , Ene. I’m not looking to babysit anyone, professionally or romantically. I’m finally finding my stride. I have a chance to make my mark on this business and I want to do it before I turn thirty. I can’t afford distractions.” I folded my arms.

The car was quiet for a moment, until Takane muttered, “Baby’s gwumpy,” and I laughed in spite of myself.

We pulled into the gym parking lot, and Takane pulled a paper bag up from the back seat and reached in to pass me a breakfast taco.

“This girl,” she said, “she’s something else. Not a lot of people live their gimmick like her. If you get her presentable in the ring, I think you and her can really make some magic.”

 _Make some magic._ She used to say that at the beginning of our matches, when my nerves were always at their worst. I’d be pacing around backstage, trying to remember our spots, fretting over how little time we had or how cold the crowd was, and she would appear behind me and throw her arm over my shoulder and say, almost laughing, _Ready to make some magic, Jefa?_

And the fear melted.

I crumpled up my wrapper and stuffed it into the bag.

“Attagirl. I’ll call you at noon.”

“Get some sleep, Ene.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

I waved one more time as her headlights disappeared around a corner before taking a deep breath and pushing open the door of the gym.

Towards the back of the main room, behind the weight sets and sandbags, I saw a flash of orange hair. A girl about four inches shorter than me was doing stretches beneath the flickering yellow light hanging over the wrestling ring in the back corner. Her ring boots were brand new, glossy and black to match her trunks and sports bra. I turned on the main lights and she squeaked in alarm, turning to face me.

“Aw, fuck.” I said.

“O-oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I know I was supposed to wait for you but I didn’t know what time you’d be here so I got kind of antsy. Please forgive me.”

“Uh...‘s fine.”

She was gorgeous. Short orange hair, a swimmer’s body, little side ponytail thing. I couldn’t look away.

“My name’s Momo Kisaragi,” she said, bowing deeply. “It would be an honor to train with you, Kido-senpai.”

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


End file.
